A Little Help Here
by stayalittlewhile
Summary: Sherlock and John have been working on a case that seems to be going no where so they decide to go out for the night.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock let out an aggravated groan as he wrapped himself in his blue, satin robe and threw himself on the couch. He didn't even bother to notice the papers his dressing gown had sent flying all over the flat's carpet. John sighed and pushed himself out of his chair to go pick up the files. He and John were working on a difficult murder case Lestrade had introduced to them just this morning and it wasn't going as planned. It appeared to be a random murder, but Sherlock clearly wasn't having it. The scene was cleaned spotless but nothing was taken from the body. He'd gone through all the evidence and visited the crime scene barely anything would come to him. Maybe it was the fact that Sherlock hadn't eat anything since yesterday morning. John stared at Sherlock's uneaten sweet and sour chicken on the counter, it was still warm but it remained untouched. John stood up and made his way to the plate. He dropped it on the table in front of Sherlock, "Eat."

Sherlock kept his eyes on the ceiling, "I see no point in doing that. Eating takeout won't help solve this case. "

God, how this case was driving Sherlock up the wall. What's wrong with me? Sherlock wondered. Only on rare occasions did Sherlock Holmes have difficulties on a case. Nothing in particular was different about this case. If you'd ask him, Sherlock would be able to tell you couple's life story, from the wedding date to the color of the bridesmaids dresses. He knows it wasn't a robbery but rather a personal murder. Sherlock knew but he couldn't quite pinpoint exactly how it was carried out.

There really was no point to keeping trying; Sherlock wouldn't eat unless John decided to shove the plate down his throat. All he cared about at the moment was the case, which was typical for Sherlock, not sleeping or talking for days, but this case was affecting him in a way that worried John. He glanced over at Sherlock, he looked incredibly worn out. John could tell he was frustrated, he had bags under his eyes and his body looked worn out and tensed. It looked like he needed some time away from this case, maybe a nap or something. Sherlock wasn't the only one who needed a break. John had sat there for hours on end watching Sherlock pace around the flat, muttering things to himself as he tried to solve the case. Being stuffed inside that flat all day was beginning to drive them both insane.

"You need a break, maybe we should go out."

"Maybe we shouldn't," Sherlock snapped back.

John rolled his eyes, "Oh come on, Sherlock! We've been in this flat for over _seven hours._ If you're not going to eat, at least get some fresh air."

Sherlock shot John a curious glance from the couch. Sherlock considered this idea; this case was driving him mad. Sherlock was having some sort of consulting detective's block, maybe some fresh air and an outing with John would help him get out of this rut. He found that taking strolls out with John tended to soothe his mind and even allowed him to channel his full attention on a case afterwards. He understood John's need to get out of the house since he's been trapped inside with Sherlock, for the whole day, working on the case. To be honest, Sherlock had felt the same way as John. As much as he wanted to solve this case, his brain needed a break more than ever.

With one swift movement he pushed himself up to a sitting position and brought his steepled hands down to his knees, "What did you have in mind? And don't waste my time, John."

John was taken back at first; he didn't expect Sherlock to be willing without a little convincing. They rarely went out since fun wasn't really Sherlock's division.

"We could go to the cinema. There's this one movie that looks quite inter-"

"Dull," Sherlock sighed.

John leaned forward, "There's a new pub down the street that we coul-"

"Boring, John!"

John took a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Fine Sherlock, you stay home and I'll go out. Try not to blow up anything while I'm gone."

He headed towards the door and grabbed his coat off of the hook. John glanced back at Sherlock to see him lying back on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling once more. Just the mere sight of Sherlock looking remotely uninteresting, as if their conversation had never happened made John's blood boil. John scoffed as he shut the door behind him with a click.

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Sorry it's a bit short for chapter one but for the others, I plan to write more.  
Hope you like it!  
(reviews are appreciated)  
xx


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry for the bit of a wait, just wanted to get the story in order before I posted more. _  
_Thanks for reading!_  
_xx_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock**

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Sherlock sat in the silence of the flat, listening to John stomp down the stairs and slam the front door. John was notorious for storming out of the flat instead of fighting. Whether it was shooting holes in the wall or insulting John's blog, Sherlock always seemed to get under John's skin. When it came to Sherlock, he handled his anger different than others. Rather than endless screaming and week long grudges, John just flexed his hands and his nostrils would flare as he took deep, calming breaths. Never had John acted out in a way that surprised Sherlock. He knew John would never lay a hand on him just out of pure anger. John was a military man after all, he had nerves of steel and he knew how to control himself under pressure. Sherlock usually never intends to anger John and cause conflict between them but when this does occur, he's never worried of John not returning. John was one of those people who forgave very quickly. Give them some time alone and they'll come back as if nothing ever happened. Sherlock was grateful that he acted that way, the last thing he needed was John gone. Neither of them admitted it but they both knew they needed each other. Sherlock to keep John's life interesting and John to keep Sherlock afloat.

Sherlock sluggishly lifted himself off of the couch and headed towards the window. By the time he got there, John was already close to the end of the street. Leaning on the window, Sherlock pushed to watch John's last steps before he disappeared out of view. He leaned his forehead against the window and sighed. With a twirl, his robe acted like a cape as he spun around and stepped over the coffee table, flinging himself face first on the brown couch. The world's only consulting detective regularly wondering why and how John puts up with his eccentric lifestyle and habits. From experiments that destroyed the kitchen to using John's laptop for "work", Sherlock always managed to annoy John in some way. With a groan, Sherlock rolled over restlessly on the couch and pushed the thoughts of John away for the time being. The case needs to be his only focus.

He entered his Mind Palace and laid out the basic facts.

The victim was a 26 year old businessman, named Williams Davis. He was meant to wed his long term girlfriend, Mary Porter, in less than two months. Happy relationship.

His body was found in the parking lot of his job next to his car but the car wasn't parked in William's usual parking spot. With the help of a coworker, Sherlock was told that William usually parks on the second floor in the spot 281. The car was found on the first floor in spot 102. First mistake. Sherlock loved when murderers made mistakes. Also, Sherlock was informed that William parked in headlights first and the car was found backed into the parking spot. Second mistake. They were making it extremely easy for Sherlock, well at least it seemed that way. The killer executed the murder very poorly indicating that it was the first murder they'd committed. The car and scene was wiped spotless so the killer must have been someone who was very afraid of getting caught. Possibly it was an accident.

William had died from a fractured skull. It appeared he was hit over the head and knocked unconscious before his skull filled with blood. It would seem as if it was a robbery but nothing was taken from his wallet or body. Car wiped clean, no use for money or stolen possessions, and no weapon found all leads to a confrontation that turned violent. Probably by a person of higher class by how eager they seemed to make sure no evidence was found. They didn't want to ruin their reputation. But that left Sherlock with one question, who had committed the crime? William was a family man and a well-respected worker.

When Sherlock inspected his car, the first thing he got was an intense whiff of stale cigarette smoke which almost made him rip off his patches and find his packs that Mrs. Hudson and John obviously hid. The odd thing was that Mary and William's house was free of anything that indicated recent smoking. On the table to the right side of their bed was an empty ashtray that was collecting dust. It looked like it had been neglected for months. The coroner report showed that William was right handed and Mary shook Sherlock's hand with her left. If the ashtray was on the right side of the bed, that'd have to be William's side. No cigarettes in the house but a smoke filled car shows that William tried to avoid smoking in the house, possibly due to his fiancé's complaining. Sherlock and John sat in Mary's living room as she told them all about William. During the conversation, their small and excessively hairy white dog came trotting in and jumped on top of John's lap. John squirmed a bit but gave the mutt attention. Sherlock moved a bit farther away from the two and sneered, he was always more of a cat person. Mary was thoroughly embarrassed and offered to take him out to the backyard but John stood and said he'd take care of it. She thanked him and turned back to Sherlock, "You're lucky to have someone like him," Mary said with a sad smile. Sherlock didn't feel like correcting her unlike John who would have gotten flustered and defended himself within a second. "Oh!" Mary exclaimed as she dug into her pocket and pulled out two rectangular slips of paper, "my father owns the art gallery down the street. I was supposed to go tonight with William but-" she let her sentence drag off and glanced down for a second. She quickly regained herself and stretched her arm out to Sherlock, "Here, take them. I have no use for them now." Sherlock thought about rejecting the offer but he was feeling kind today so he took the tickets with gratitude and tucked them into his pocket. Just then, John walked back into the room with the small dog following close behind. John shrugged and made an attempt to wipe some of the white hair off of his jeans. Sherlock decided she had said enough and bid her farewell.

With no lead, Sherlock got up from the couch and paced back and forth as thoughts went from William to John to cigarettes and he felt like his head was going to explode. Sherlock slowly sat himself down in his chair and took a deep breath. He ran his fingers through his curls and rubbed his temples. Maybe John was right. He glanced at the clock. 7:45. John had been gone for 7 minutes. By the direction John was walking and his suggestions before, Sherlock decided he was heading for the closest pub. He sighed; the last place he wanted to go was a pub, but right now he would do anything especially if it made John happier. Sherlock got up out of his chair and threw his robe over the back. He wrapped his scarf around his neck and put his arms through his coat sleeves. As he walked down the stairs, he shoved his hands in his pockets and felt paper. He pulled out the two art gallery tickets. It started at 8:00. Sherlock decided that's where they'd be going for the night. He hopped down the rest of the stairs and quickly walked through the hallway as he folded the tickets and put them back in his pockets. Stepping through the doorway, he shut it firmly behind him and began running down the street towards John.


	3. Chapter 3

_GUYS GUYS IM SO SORRY I am such a little shit who never updated. Busy with camp and crap sorry again. But now I'm back on track I promise! :)_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. _

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John instantly felt a bit better as he bursted through 221B and into the London streets. John enjoyed being outside, especially during weather similar to tonight's. The night was clear yet he could smell the rain in the air and see the puddles formed on the pavement. Town was tranquil, barely anybody was out. A bit surprising for London but John wasn't complaining. The thing he needed right now was some peace. Before Sherlock, his life was only boring. John appreciated the calmness even more since he'd met Sherlock. With all his eccentric ramblings and loud experiments, John had learned to savor the occasional peace.

John thought back to the image of Sherlock lying on the couch with a blank expression on his face, apathetic to his surroundings. John gritted his teeth. Why did Sherlock have to be such a wanker sometimes? John found himself wondering this quite often, not to mention the fact everyone else thought John was crazy for befriending a sociopath. John had latched onto Sherlock so quickly. They had known each other for little than 48 hours before they'd established being flatmates. Not to mention John had, more than once, offered to sacrifice his life for him. You can't blame the tabloids calling John 'Sherlock Holmes's pet'. John follows Sherlock around like a lost puppy and barely gets the praise he desperately craves. This brings him back to the big question, why does he stay when he can easily pack his bags and leave? John doesn't quite know why he puts up with Sherlock. Maybe it's the fact that Sherlock never fails to amaze him or the other obvious fact that he is an utter genius.

During mid-thought, he was startled by sudden weight on his shoulder. He swung around to see Sherlock and was instantly relieved. Sherlock was breathing a bit heavy and his cheeks were lightly tinted red. John decided not to drag on the fight and placed his hands behind his back, "I see you've changed your mind?" he teased.

Sherlock sneered, "I gave it some thought and I decided _this _was considerably more interesting at the moment."

John raised his eyebrows, "Well, okay," he began to walk again, "I was heading to the-"

"Pub," Sherlock finished for him, "I know. Utterly predictable."

John rolled his eyes and sighed, "So where are we off to, then?"

"It's a surprise," Sherlock said as he threw his arm up to hail a cab.

Once the cab halted in front of the men, Sherlock opened the door for John and gestured for him to enter the cab. John smiled quickly and climbed into the cab, sliding all the way to the window.

Sherlock climbed in after him and crossed his legs, "93 Hudson Street, please," he told the cab driver.

They sat in silence while the cab started to drive. Sherlock was on doing something on his phone and  
John was looking expectantly at Sherlock, hoping he would provide some sort of information on where they were going. After a bit, Sherlock looked up from his phone, acknowledging John's stare and looked psychically pained that he had questions. Unfazed, John continued to ask, "Do I get any hints on where were going?"

Sherlock looked back down at his phone, "The address was your hint."

John slowly looked out the window. He didn't really know what he expected from Sherlock. John knew certain places in London but Hudson Street was not one of them. If the situation was flipped, Sherlock would know where they were going before he even entered the cab. He just had to wait and see what Sherlock had up his sleeve. Knowing Sherlock, he was probably taking John somewhere that has to do with some case. Then it dawned on him, Sherlock was taking him somewhere that had to do with not just _some_ case, but_ the_ case. The case that was driving Sherlock crazy. The case John was determined to take a break from.

He snapped his head back at Sherlock and stared in disbelief, "I swear, Sherlock, if it has to do with the case."

Sherlock didn't say anything back to John; he didn't even acknowledge that John was speaking. Before John could ask again (this time with force), the cab was suddenly pulling up near the sidewalk. John looked back out the window and stared at the building to the side of the cab. It was a shop front made entirely of glass and small lights were hanging from the thin awning. Through the windows, John could see there were crowds of people inside looking at various things on the wall and some lower towards the ground. The place was beautiful, especially on a night like tonight. By the time John turned back around to Sherlock, he had already thrown enough bills in the front seat and was getting out of the cab.

He kept the door open for John and lowered his head in, "Coming?"

John slid towards the opened door and climbed out, "An art gallery?"

"Our client's father owns the place," he began to walk around the cab and stepped up onto the curb, "she gave me, well us, the two tickets."

John thought about earlier today but didn't recall this gesture at all. He closed the cab's door and walked around the car to Sherlock. Sherlock was standing on the curb which made him tower John even more. Feeling kind of self-conscious, John hopped up onto the curb next to Sherlock, and asked, "And when was this?"

"Doesn't matter now," Sherlock said as he started for the highly decorated gallery, "I thanked her for the both of us." John followed behind Sherlock and made a noise of agreement. Sherlock just smirked, he didn't actually thank her but he wasn't about to let John find out.

As soon as they walked in, the atmosphere changed dramatically. The outside looked very fun and welcoming but inside was very still and uptight. Everybody turned towards the duo with some sense of disapprovement. Sherlock fit in relatively fine but John on the other hand was very underdressed for the occasion. John awkwardly faked a tightlipped smile and guided Sherlock out of the crowd's direct view. Once everyone went back to what they were doing, he pulled Sherlock down and sneered into his ear, "_What_ are we doing here?"

"Just relax, John," Sherlock lightly pushed John back from him and patted his own coat down, "Walk around and admire the art."

John squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. After taking a deep breath, he turned back towards the crowd. Sherlock was already a couple feet away from him so John headed to the nearest painting. It was a rather large painting that consisted of a painted field. In that painted field was some goats and a prairie looking house far back. It was very well made and John particularly liked the goats and how they were painted.

Suddenly, Sherlock came up behind him and pushed him around so that they were face to face, "John, it was the father." Sherlock's eyes were twinkling and he looked happier than ever.

Startled, John stuttered, "W-what?"

Sherlock was too ecstatic to even remind John that he was an idiot, "Mary's father murdered William."

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_Sorry for the bit of a cliffhanger..._  
_xx_


	4. Chapter 4

The aired stilled in the room and the only energy was coming from Sherlock. With both hands on John's shoulder, excitement was pouring out of him. He'd just figured out the case that was driving him absolutely crazy! But the only thing that fazed John was the fact that Sherlock vigorously grabbed his shoulders and was now yelling that the owner was a murderer. John's eyebrows were furrowed and it looked like he was in pain. He quickly removed himself from Sherlock and patted himself down before stumbling out a reason for Sherlock's outburst to the staring bystanders, "He just figured out something from the program we were watching on the telly, sorry. Carry on." Before the crowd managed to get back to normal, Sherlock was pushing people out of the way to get to the back of the place. He finally got to a door to an office and started banging loudly with his balled fist. A man about John's height swung the door open and was taking aback by the current situation: shocked faces of his customers either looking at him or the crazed man looking for him.

Sherlock turned back to John, "Look John, he was walking around before and that's when I figured it out!"

"Sherlock," John sneered through his teeth, "leave the man alone and lets just go."

"Shall I spell it out for you lot?" Sherlock groaned to the crowd.

"Yes, I would love to know what on hell is going on," Phil exploded.

"You own an upscale art gallery in central London that's filled with potential buyers. You also look like a professional, hair is neat, suit is ironed and expensive, and your shoes are nice and polished. But if you look a little closer, "Sherlock deduced as he pushed past Phil into his office, ignoring his protestations, "The outside of his jacket is covered in short, white hair. If it was his pet, there would be traces in the carpet from repeatedly tracking the fur into the office but as you can see," Sherlock said crouching down, "Nothing. But how did the fur get there then? Possibly because his daughter and not-so-soon to be son in law own a small white dog." Phil tried to interrupt Sherlock, but there was no stopping him now.

"Now, take a big whiff, what do you smell? Cigarettes. Phil doesn't smoke! No match dust on his fingers and no lines above his lips that would indicate smoking. Then why does his jacket," Sherlock continued while taking a deep sniff of Phil's jacket, "Stink of stale cigarette smoke? Maybe because he spent the night killing William Davis and using his car to move his own body. See William was a heavy smoker but only smoked in the car, so it's practically a cigarette on wheels. That would also explain the reason William's car was found in the wrong parking spot and level." Sherlock took a second to breathe and Phil took that opportunity to yell for security. Before Sherlock could continue his explanation, two big men in black suits were roughly pulling him through the crowd and to the front of the gallery. John pushed and excused himself through the shocked crowd of people.

"Sherlock," John called out as the men forcefully threw the detective out onto the sidewalk. John and the guards bumped shoulders as they passed each other, them strolling back inside and John rushing towards the crumpled mass on the ground.

"Jesus, Sherlock," John scolded, leaning down on one knee next to Sherlock and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Sherlock snapped his head up, "I'm fine, I'm fine," he declared and tried to shake John off but once he started to lift himself up, he wobbled a bit and John's doctor instincts emerged. John kept his hand on his shoulder and got up at the same pace as Sherlock and once he was on his feet, John rested his other hand on the detective's chest, giving him some support just in case he decided to get all wobbly again. Sherlock stood without an issue and this time, successfully, shook John off of him and adjusted himself from the throw. Looking as satisfied with himself, Sherlock whipped out his phone and pressed a few buttons before bringing the phone up to his ear. John tried to get a word in but Sherlock put a hand up to shush him. "Lestrade, the fiancé's father is guilty of killing William. 93 Hudson Street. You can arrest him there," Sherlock proclaimed into the phone and quickly disconnected, slipping it back into his pocket. John stood back as he watched Sherlock begin to walk down the street as if nothing had just happened and knew the right thing was to be angry but at least Sherlock got him out of that horrid gallery.

John followed close next to Sherlock, "We went out to avoid the case and you ended up solving it," John smiled. Sherlock smirked at John's remark and glanced at him, "Who knew going out would actually be beneficial."

The doctor shrugged and stopped at the curb trying to haul a cab and ultimately failed. Sherlock came up behind him, "I know a shortcut from here. We can walk," he offered, "If you're feeling up to it."

John brought his arm down and turned towards Sherlock, considering the idea. The night was quite nice and they'd been in the flat all day plus the whole going out thing didn't work out so well, the least he could do was walk home. "Why not," John nodded towards Sherlock and on they were on their way.

Again, John followed close next to Sherlock, following him as he led them through the London streets. After a few minutes of walking, Sherlock turned down an alley way and John hesitantly followed behind but he was a good foot behind Sherlock. The alley made a sharp turned and Sherlock kept walking out of John's view and John rushed around the corner but just ended up slamming into him.

Sherlock had stopped near the alley way wall, looking up at the tall fence before them, "Baker Street should be at the end of this alley," Sherlock confessed. John sighed but before he could say anything, Sherlock was heading towards the fence. He began to climb and looked back at John once he realized his blogger wasn't following along, "Ever climbed a fence before?"

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_I just realized how short all of these are it's sort of ridiculous. It's my first multi chapter fic so maybe next time I'll make the chapters more juicy. _  
_xx_


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